


of all the people i meet- i want to take it all with me

by tooschoolforcool



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooschoolforcool/pseuds/tooschoolforcool
Summary: When you meet a soulmate, someone who's destined to change your life in some significant way, and you touch them, your touch leaves a trace. It only appears for someone who you love and who loves you in return. These marks are extremely sentimental, sort of living tattoos that leave a tapestry of your life and who you love over time on your skin.Jon's skin was blank. He had no soulmates. He wasn't expecting this to change anytime soon, and he was perfectly happy with that, thank you very much.aka: three times jon received a mark, and one time he gives one.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 87
Kudos: 599
Collections: RaeLynn's Epic Rec List





	1. if jon had a twitter his tweets would always start with like (5/36) and martin would read the entire thread every time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [paint me in trust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074648) by [dinomight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinomight/pseuds/dinomight). 



> i’ve been thinking about that scene in grace and frankie where sol is gently petting the dog and stops and goes softly “do you think he knows we love him?” and now i have to write a fic where jon has living proof his friends love him im sorry i gotta it’s a legal requirement i know i have two unfinished magnus archives fics already i knowwwwwww

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve been thinking about that scene in grace and frankie where sol is gently petting the dog and stops and goes softly “do you think he knows we love him?” and now i have to write a fic where jon has living proof his friends love him im sorry i gotta it’s a legal requirement i know i have two unfinished magnus archives fics already i knowwwwwww

Everyone knows that when you meet a soulmate, and you touch them for the first time with love in both your hearts, you’ll get a soulmate mark. That’s just the way the world works. It showed people who belonged in your life, people who loved you- your family, but the family the universe had hand-picked for you. In older times, it was a useful tool to show who you could trust, who wouldn’t sell you out or cheat you or betray you. Now it was more of an old-fashioned tradition, like a leftover fairy-tale that had come true, but they were still extremely sentimental to most. Jon had no such sentiments. Marks were foolish and useless, left-over from when humanity was too dull to focus on advancement and more focused on hitting each-other with swords. The marks were simply a convenient reminder of who not to hit. 

Jon could remember, being a fresh faced six year old, with blank skin, looking up at his grade school teacher with wide eyes. She was kind, sweet, and had no shortage of bright colors decorating her skin, a pink streak across her wrist where a soulmate must have brushed it with their hand, a blue thumbprint resting on her cheekbone, the inside of her palms permanently stained with green where the first touch must have been someone taking hold of her hand. 

The other kids in his class had two marks, typically, sometimes more. From parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, anyone who loved them and who they loved and who was meant to be in their life for some amount of time. Fate, apparently, shoving souls together. Usually family was a child’s first marks, then often childhood friends, but those would fade as the child grew and friendships faded along with the love that came with them. The marks would grow pale, like marker that couldn’t be scrubbed off. There were a few children with no marks at all, but that wasn’t excessively odd. They were so young, after all, there was plenty of time, and of course not all marks were in easily visible places like the face or arms. 

Jon was one such child. His skin was clear, blank, unmarked. Again he pictured his teacher’s face, her kind eyes as she leaned in and reminded him softly that his first mark would come soon. That he should remember there were always people in the world who were going to love him, and he just hadn’t met them yet. She had been lucky enough to meet hers early, his teacher reassured him, and he simply had to be patient.

That was twenty years ago. Jon’s skin remained a canvas that he was pretty certain no one was planning to paint on.

And he was fine with it. Some people tended to get tattoos, if they were unmarked, but he had begun to think of his almost as a point of pride. He was above it. Other people were often distracted, by their family or romance and whatnot, and Jon was the head Archivist of an academic institute at 26. 

There was no bitterness. Of course not. Jon had never been a friendly man, and he had no intentions of changing this. The lack of paint splotches on him didn’t affect his job performance, and that was obviously working out for him. One of the reasons Elias had hired him was his single-handed commitment for the job, the intense way he was eager to absolutely devour the knowledge of the Archives. He was committed. He was driven. And he was doing just fine for himself, working his way up alone. Jon could figure out the social part of life later, when he was well-established in his career, and it would all sort itself out neatly. 

He knew people whispered about him, sometimes. The only other unmarked person Jon had ever met was his grandmother, and even she had faded marks littered here and there. He had attempted to ask questions when he was young, but she had simply told him when you got to her age you were lucky to have sight enough to read, let alone spot any of those foolish marks everyone was always going on about. 

When he was little, it was a frequent daydreaming exercise. If his parents had lived long enough to give him a mark, what would it have looked like? What color would his marks appear in? In his childhood imaginings Jon was covered with marks, so much so you could barely see the brown of his skin poking out in between the electric pink and the bright red, a dizzying combination of colors making him into a walking rainbow.

That, of course, was unrealistic. The marks only showed up for those who were destined to be part of your life, to change it in some way before they left it. They didn’t show up for strangers brushing against you in the street. People would accrue a lot over their lifetime, sure, but those were likeable people, people it was easy to love. 

Jon was not easy to love. He was relatively sure he was impossible to love, because surely someone would have managed at this point over 26 years. His grandmother couldn’t even manage it, and he knew his love for her wasn’t the problem. On a good day, he thought maybe his intellect was intimidating, or his single-minded focus too intense. On a bad day, he muddled through thoughts of his terrible social skills, his failure to pick up on apparently obvious cues, his quickness to anger and irritation and snapped comments. He doubted he’d find out what his color was even if it was possible to mark yourself. 

No, he had resigned himself. He would never receive a soulmate mark. Jon rarely experienced face to face human contact. There was no chance of him even making friends anytime soon, let alone anyone touching him with love in their heart.

As he grew to get to know his new coworkers, he felt, ultimately, proven right. Martin was a bumbling fool, Tim was too busy joking to actually use his intelligence or do anything resembling work, and as intelligent as Sasha was she was too focused and distracted by her friendship with Tim and Martin to actually do good for her career. He had known the three casually in his previous four years at the Institute, and hadn’t taken much notice.

That wasn’t entirely true. He had noticed Martin, but only because it was rare to someone else with as few marks as his own. Jon assumed he had some, hidden under his signature wooly jumpers, and was simply private about them. Tim showed his proudly, often wearing short sleeves in winter seemingly so he could rub a thumb over his favorites, the dark blue faded smear on one bicep (which was from a mysterious little brother he would mention occasionally), and a yellow mark on the inside of his elbow (which was from Sasha). Sasha was a bit more private, usually tugging her sleeves down over hers or adjusting her hair to cover the ones dotted on her neck and shoulders. Elias was private enough about them that Jon hadn’t seen any uncovered skin on the man besides his face and hands. 

It was an uneventful job, at first. Day in and day out, dealing with statements from people who were obviously out of their mind. Absolutely nothing exciting. 

And when it started to grow exciting, Jon slowly started to realize he might be out of his depth. By the time he realized it might work better with, perhaps, someone on his side, it was much too late. 

His first ever unusual marks were the worm scars that littered his skin, and Jon was confident they would double as his last. 


	2. georgie barker is a saint and you can't convince me otherwise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote a georgie chapter for my other fic, took 3 days. wrote a georgie chapter for this fic, took like 30 minutes. idk man.
> 
> ok also this fic is inspired heavily by another fic i read months ago, and i wrote out the author's note and everything, and then forgot to actually find the fic and add it in. when i did eventually find the fic, it turns out me and the author are both dodie fans because i accidentally gave my fic the exact same title, because i'm a forgetful bitch and 'paint me in trust' is a perfect lyric for this au. which is why the title of the fic changed.
> 
> the title is from shoegaze by alabama shakes, and i HIGHLY recommend you check it out it's my fave song of all time. i listen to it almost nonstop while writing this

There was no doubt in Jon’s mind that one of his assistants had killed Gertrude.

He wasn’t quite sure which one, but he was sure. His mind had reached a frantic, fevered pace, his breathing wild and heavy as he looked through Sasha’s desk, his careful movements to avoid disturbing anything too badly completely on edge with his unraveling composure. 

Martin had found Gertrude’s body. It obviously wasn't a natural cause. Jon’s mind could barely keep up with the pace that thoughts were hurtling through it, and in some vague part of his mind he was fully aware this was wrong, and definitely not something he would've even thought about doing a month prior. 

Now his thoughts were on other things, and he needed results. Sasha had almost died, in the worm attack, with how much CO2 she had inhaled going back down to the Archives instead of going to Artefact Storage where it was safe. He needed to be able to know if he could trust his assistants. Jon hadn’t grown… close with them, exactly, but he now had to admit he was growing just a tad warmer toward them before the worm incident, and if he perhaps gave the majority of his rare praise or thank yous to Sasha, well, favoritism in the workplace wasn’t exactly unusual, and it wasn’t his fault Sasha was just more competent than Tim, let alone Martin. Jon wanted to be able to trust her, just a little. It would be so much more helpful to have her skills, even if she thought she was just doing normal statement research. 

But she could be a killer. How much did he really know about any of his staff? He didn’t know one single fact about any of them. Jon supposed he was learning, rifling through Sasha’s belongings. So far he had found a glasses case with bright stickers plastered on it, three different stress balls, and an expired granola bar. He wasn’t learning much.

He was startled out of this frenzy by a voice behind him, and he whipped around best he could from his position, kneeling on the ground to look through the bottom-most desk drawer.

“Jon. What the fuck.” The owner of the desk drawer in question was standing behind him, looking less than pleased. This… did not bode well.

“Sasha- I- I misplaced something, I was-”

“Lying isn’t a good look, Jon,” Sasha said, softer than Jon expected, and leaned against Tim’s desk in a half-sit. “What’d you find? The murder weapon? A signed confession? ‘Yes, I’m plotting to kill my boss for some reason, he’s next in my murder spree, and yes I’m stupid enough to leave evidence in my work desk’?” She raised an eyebrow at his lack of response. Jon wasn’t sure what to say, honestly. He was not a good enough liar to excuse his rifling through desk drawers after work-hours. He wasn’t sure anyone was.

“Don’t apologize, or anything like that, that’s fine.” Sasha paused for another moment, and at Jon’s continued silence, laughed a little. “Okay, don’t use sarcasm on Jon, got it.”

“O-oh. Sorry. I mean, I’m sorry- I mean, I apologize, Sasha.” He stood stiffly, and backed away from her desk toward his office. Sasha reached out as he did so, catching hold of his arm, andJon flinched slightly. It was not often people were close enough to him to touch. She squeezed lightly, then let him go. The same habitual thoughts, those regrets when anyone touched his clothes but missed skin, rose to mind, and for a moment Jon could see her fingers outlined in the same light yellow that he had seen on Tim’s skin.

“Jon, do me a favor, please.” Sasha met his eyes steadily, and he nodded with a sharp jerky movement. 

“Y-yes. Sure.”    
“Talk to someone? About this? Someone who doesn’t work here.” She turned to walk to her desk, speaking as she moved to open one of her drawers. “We care about you, but you can’t keep on like this. You’re not even leaving the Archives to go home, and as much as I’m your friend, I’m not your babysitter. Also, if I catch you doing any more spy shit, we won’t be friends.”

“I’m sorry, Sasha. I will. Talk to someone. About this.” The words came out more stilted and nervous than Jon meant them to, and he was still caught up on Sasha telling him they were friends. He had thought she hadn’t liked him at all, they had never spoken outside work, and he probably shouldn’t read into it- she meant friends like friendly coworkers, of course- but it still sent a strange pang through his chest, one he hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Thanks. Just came back for this.” Sasha held up the glasses case she had grabbed from her desk, and gestured toward the door to his office. “Go get your stuff, Jon, it’s 7 pm. Get some sleep. See you tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright.” Jon waited as she left, then sank into the nearest chair with a heavy sigh, looking at Tim’s desk, which he had planned to look through next. 

He was tired. He was so, so exhausted. All this police business, the tapes, trying to be a detective and connect red strings when he could barely string his life together. It was like he was seeing enemies at every turn. The only person Jon somewhat trusted was Basira, and he had met her a week ago, but at least he knew she hadn’t killed Gertrude. That she wasn’t a snake in the grass, waiting for him to trip up and strike. Who was he supposed to ‘talk to’ about all this? It wasn’t like it was going to solve much of anything, but he had promised. After the surprisingly well way Sasha took him going through her things, he owed her that at least. 

He pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. It was a meager list, mainly work-related, and he stared at it for a second before tapping the name right above ‘Blackwood, Martin’. Hopefully Georgie didn’t take hearing from him after so long too badly. 

  
  


Jon did not enjoy getting stabbed, and he rather hoped it didn’t happen again. Georgie seemed to concur. 

Helen Richardson had given her statement and left through the wrong door, and Jon ended up stabbed by this Michael thing that kept popping up. It had not been the best day, and so upon work ending and Martin gently reminding him that he should head home at the normal time, not 3 am, he called Georgie and told her to expect him over shortly. 

The place where he should have been stabbed was not looking as stabbed as it should have been. Whatever Michael had done, it hadn’t left any lasting damage, but it certainly hurt enough, and he winced in pain as he shifted on the couch. The Admiral had already claimed his spot on Jon’s lap, and Georgie was sprawled over a nearby armchair with her legs dangling over the sides. 

It had been two months since they had started talking again, and at first it was almost unbearably awkward. Their friendship in university had felt so easy, at first, they had so many of the same interests and would spend hours staying up and chatting about whatever book the two of them had most recently devoured, taking over a corner of the library to analyze their thoughts and discuss. 

When Jon put the thoughts into words, he was aware this sounded like a book club, and to some extent that’s what his younger self had treated it as. He was at best dismissive of Georgie’s opinions when he didn’t share them, and at worst outright condescending. He was irritable, rude to her with no reason to be, completely unable to look past his own thoughts to find out that other people had emotions and he should be considerate of them. 

She had told him all of this when he asked why they had stopped being friends in the first place, and Jon felt a little like he had willingly laid in front of a cement truck. Georgie was smart, and her ability to read people was not to be underestimated, but it felt like a weapon when used on him, and seeing his own actions through someone else’s eyes was something he hadn’t experienced before. He did not enjoy it, and Georgie told him with a slight smile that maybe that meant he needed some change. Jon had reluctantly concurred. 

Now they had slipped into an easy comfort that they hadn’t shared even in university, Georgie’s mom-friend tendencies working well with Jon’s absent mindedness. He would come over relatively often (always her flat, his didn’t have the Admiral, so what would be the point) and they would eat dinner, or watch terrible old horror movies, or sometimes just exist in silence. It was a luxury Jon had never experienced before, to just exist in the same room with someone and enjoy knowing that they were there just to sit near you. That they wanted to be around you.

He was rather peeved that this time was being ruined slightly by his unfortunate stab wound. It was rude of him, honestly.

“Jon, you said it didn’t leave a mark or anything. I can hear you grunting over there, it obviously still hurts.” Georgie sat up as she spoke, swinging her legs over and standing up. “Let me look at it, okay?”

“It didn’t leave a mark, but I can still feel it. There’s no need, Georgie, really.” Jon attempted to shift again, and froze as another jolt of pain shot through him. He attempted to ignore it, and lifted his book higher in a show of normalcy.

Georgie was not buying it. She sat on the couch next to him, attempting to peer at his shoulder, and he moved the book to cover her view. She snorted, making a grab for the book, and her hand brushed the side of his wrist.

She had a long grey streak on the outside of her pinkie, and Jon attempted a distraction.

“You have some graphite or something on your hands, and you’re definitely getting nowhere near my shoulder before you wash them.” He thought that a valid enough excuse that Georgie would buy it, even if it only gave him a minute or two, but he really didn’t want to show the deeper and more uncomfortable looking worm scars on his shoulders. The ones on his face were disturbing enough, and they were much lighter.

She didn’t respond, staring at something Jon couldn’t see. He attempted to follow her gaze. 

On the inside of his right wrist, right below his thumb, was a bright smear of turquoise. It had not been there seconds earlier. 

Georgie’s face lit up, and she grabbed his hand, inspecting the mark. Jon was frozen in a daze, unable to make it make sense in his mind, and after a moment without a response from him, Georgie carefully and gently pressed her pinkie to his wrist.

Jon had never felt anything like it. It was a feeling of deep contentment, a sort of happy daze of trust and comfort, like a puzzle piece slotting into place. It lasted for a moment, and Georgie slowly moved her hand away, still smiling widely at him, and the feeling faded slowly, but still left a residual heat in his chest, like he had just downed a shot of something sweet and warm. 

He looked at her, trying to force words out, but they were getting choked and jumbled in his head. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, he had never been in this situation before, he didn’t know if there was a social dialogue script he was missing, and all of his thoughts suddenly became irrelevant as Georgie carefully put her arms around his neck, avoiding his shoulder, and hugged him. The Admiral protested loudly from his spot in Jon’s lap, leaping off the couch in favor of finding food. Jon barely noticed.

This was almost more startling than the mark. Jon went limp, staring at the wall behind her head, and remembered about two seconds into it that he was supposed to do something too. He patted her back lightly, and she burst out laughing, pulling back and taking a second to move her hand, rotating it to inspect it further. 

“Jon, honestly, you’re acting like this is your first mark! This is a good thing! I wonder what it means, we’re gonna change each other’s lives in some way, or maybe we already have? We’ve known each other years, I mean.” Georgie moved to press her mark back against Jon’s, and he pulled his wrist close to his chest, leaning away from her. She paused, her expression softening, and met his eyes. 

“Th- Well. This is my first mark.” Jon admitted quietly, looking away and staring instead at the turquoise smear. It was exact, the mark only appearing where skin had touched skin, and that meant every mark would match perfectly with its differently colored twin. He gently rubbed a thumb across it, and it stayed put. Could there be mistakes, in marks? Georgie and he were friends, but he was sure she didn’t want a mark from him, and sure she didn’t think of him with love in her heart. He was a prick, she had told him that countless times, and he stuck around anyway because after becoming used to having a friend he wasn’t keen on going back to being alone, and she reluctantly put up with him. This might be the final straw. She’d be disgusted, of course, that he loved her, even platonically. The mark would fade quickly, Jon was sure. 

“It won’t come off, Jon. This is- it’s really your first mark?” Georgie’s smile had dropped, and she glanced down at her own arms, dotted here and there with bright spots of color. Some were faded, almost invisible, while others were so bright it felt like Jon had to look away. The grey he had left was shining looking almost iridescent as she tilted her hand in the light. 

“I. Yes.” He wasn’t sure what more to say, and Georgie took hold of his hand, looking at him for permission. He gave a slight nod and she pressed her pinkie back where it had been and he stopped thinking again.

Jon could feel Georgie. Not from the point of physical contact, but he could feel her happiness at their mark, her excitement over what it meant, and her sadness that he didn’t seem to share her joy. 

And then he could feel, for a moment, what she thought of him. How fond she was of him, how she would excitedly check her phone when it buzzed, hoping for a response from him, how happy she was that he had grown into someone she could be close friends with. That she looked at him with love in her heart. 

Georgie abruptly broke the contact this time, and Jon had to shake himself back into reality. 

“Jon. Jon, honestly-” she broke off and hugged him again, and this time Jon was a little more prepared. She was warm, and soft, but Jon hadn’t been hugged since he was a child, and this was so overwhelming he wasn’t sure how to process it, and he found himself disappointed as she pulled away, the loss of contact making his heart contract. 

“Is that what you think? That I just put up with you out of- out of pity, or something?” Georgie made direct eye contact with him, and Jon fidgeted as he tried not to break it. He wanted very much to look anywhere than at her face. This was a mortifying ordeal, people did this voluntarily? Looked into each other’s feelings, and just knew them? He wasn’t sure he wanted to be known. It felt rather uncomfortable, at the moment, but he wanted very much for Georgie to hug him again, so he gave a somewhat apologetic shrug in favor of having to speak. She sighed.

“Jon. I barely have the patience to put up with many people I don’t like at work, let alone invite them into my flat once a week. Or let them pet my cat. You have to be worthy of the Admiral to come in here, you know, not just anyone gets that privilege.” Georgie took his hand as she spoke, squeezing it tightly, and Jon nodded mutely. “This is a good thing, right?” It was her turn to look a bit worried. Jon doubted she had ever had a reaction that could be interpreted as negative to a soulmate mark before. 

“It is a good thing. I’m sorry, Georgie, it’s just- a lot to take in, I suppose.” His eyes kept being drawn to the mark, its bright contrast against his dark skin, the blue-green color matching Georgie’s eyeshadow, Georgie’s couch, Georgie’s phone case. He supposed if you knew your color since birth, it made sense to embrace it. 

“I know, Jon, but think of it this way. You need to get used to it,” she said softly, letting go of his hand and tapping his mark with her index finger lightly. “First of many.”

Jon wasn’t convinced, but he looked at Georgie’s grey streak next to his wrist, and nodded. 

“First of many,” he echoed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is @diffenbachiae come say hi!!! i'm having a ton of fun writing this fic and comments feed my soul pls tell me what u think!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hope yall are staying safe and indoors and practicing the appropriate level of social distancing for wherever you're from !! especially if ur in america and ur state lifted restrictions recently !!


	3. camaraderie found through pure unadulterated nerdiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet u thought i forgot abt this fic huh...

Jon clung to his mark like a lifeline.

Even as things started to grow more and more terrifying as months passed, threads unraveling as he pulled more and more at the tapestry, he never felt nearly as horrid as he had before. When the fear threatened to overwhelm him, it seemed to always stop just short of a full-on panic, like he simply just didn’t have enough fear in him to reach the quota anymore. Georgie had asked him- not forced him to promise, or pressured him, simply asked him- to just talk to her when he needed to. Something about the casualness of the way she had said it, but the sincerity in her eyes, made him feel comfortable enough to actually take her up on it. 

When he started to spiral, he would spot his wrist, and the bright turquoise still there. It hadn’t faded- if anything, it seemed to grow brighter, the more and more time he spent with Georgie. Jon would press his own fingers to it, imagining the feeling he had experienced when Georgie had done so, and his heart rate would slow without fail. There were still bad days, of course, when he felt like the weight of years of work was all resting on his shoulders, as he tried to unravel the mysteries of Gertrude’s tapes, but he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about insomnia as much as before- he could visit Georgie, they would watch a movie, and after they pressed their marks together he could sleep easily. Her theory was that her lack of fear helped with his anxiety. Jon’s theory was that his thoughts were quieter when he was with Georgie, like just her presence made him better, but that was much too sappy to put into words. 

Everything about him was more sappy now, and he wasn’t quite sure if he enjoyed it. He found himself smiling more, even laughing at one of Tim’s jokes, which shocked the other assistants enough all friendly conversation stopped and all eyes turned to him. Jon had immediately retreated to his office, but after that they seemed to be making an effort to refuse to allow him to do so. Sasha, in particular, would insist that he accompany the assistants to lunch and the like- “unless you’re still convinced we’re murderers, Jon”, she would say pointedly, seemingly attempting to prove their innocence by forcing a friendship between Jon and the others.

The most surprising part of all of it was that it seemed to be working. As he got to know Sasha, Tim, and Martin, his conviction that one of them could be responsible lessened by the day. Sasha, while certainly smart and capable enough to pull it off, had no motivation that Jon could think of, seemed to have gotten along with Gertrude quite well, and Jon had seen her cry at accidentally hitting a squirrel with her car. Not exactly murderer material. Tim had even less of a motive, and Martin refused to let Jon kill as much as a spider. Of course, people could be surprising, and his wall was never fully down, but he could feel the assistants pulling at it brick by brick. Jon had held short conversations with Tim, held himself back from snapping at Martin several times, and had begun to form what he could consider a friendship with Sasha. They would have long academic conversations, both of them voracious readers, and sometimes Jon would lose track of time so fully he’d find himself glancing at the clock well past midnight.

This was one of those times- himself and Sasha, heads bent close together, deep into a conversation about prone burials and archaeology. The hours had slipped away easily, Tim leaving promptly at five, Martin lingering until around seven, and now the clock chimed midnight, although neither seemed keen on ending the conversation. Jon told himself he was enjoying the discussion, not simply Sasha’s presence alone, but her easy smile and bright enthusiasm was undeniably charming. He had found himself laughing at her jokes, a sort of warm fondness settling into his heart, and was once again attempting to remind himself that she could be a murderer when she let out a yawn and let her head drift to rest on Jon’s shoulder. 

“Sorry- tired,” she murmured quietly, and Jon held himself as still as he possibly could, feeling rather like he was attempting not to spook a deer. This wasn’t natural for him, not in the way it seemed to be for Georgie- people didn’t touch him, let alone lean on him, casually, in a way that suggested friendship. 

His jumper was sagging slightly at the neck, years of use and his own skinny frame leaving it worn and loose. Sasha’s cheekbone rested an inch from his bare skin.

“Do you need a ride home?” Jon asked stiffly, still trying his hardest to become a statue, and Sasha shook her head as much as she could with half her face pressed to his shoulder. The movement shifted her. Her collarbone rested half an inch from his bare skin.

“No, thank you, got my car a block away. Will you walk me to it though? I’ll drop you back off at your car, safety first and all that.” She sighed as she pulled herself upright, rubbing absent-mindedly underneath her glasses at the dark circles under her eyes, and Jon let himself relax. He was being foolish, anyway. The fact that he had one mark did not mean he would receive any more- the probability of more than one person being able to put up with him was astronomically low. 

“I’ll walk you there, but I’ll be coming back here afterwards, not to my flat yet- I have more work to do.” Jon always had more work to do, it seemed. He doubted he’d be able to sleep anyway, already able to tell that his racing thoughts would keep him staring at the wall for hours instead of drifting off. There was no point in attempting the impossible.

“No, you very well are not, it’s midnight!” Sasha abruptly looked much more awake in her outrage. “You need rest, or poor Martin will spill tea on himself again when you inevitably snap at him. Give that man a break.”

“He’ll spill tea on himself regardless,” Jon sighed, and immediately regretted it somewhat, thinking back to all of Georgie’s words on kindness and patience. It was hard for him to attempt to understand Martin, when everything about Jon was sharp edges and pushing himself to his own limits, and Martin was all soft and slow. The frustration wasn’t even with Martin, really, just that he was angry and Martin was there. He could see that now, but it didn’t mean he was keen on befriending the man. 

“Jon, honestly. Martin is sweet and has been nothing but kind to you. Maybe if you slept, once in a while, your mood would improve.” Sasha sent him a warning glance, and he nodded, mumbling an apology and rubbing at his own eyes. She was right, probably, but sleep only came easy when Georgie was nearby, and she was busy. There was little chance of Jon getting any rest.

He grabbed a couple files as he stood, as surreptitiously as he could manage, but of course Sasha’s observant eyes caught him anyway and she raised an eyebrow. 

“Jon. I think if I say ‘Jon, honestly’ one more time, the words will lose all meaning.” She tucked a braid behind her ear and reached out for the files- Jon resisted the immediate childish urge to hold them above his head, which would be useless anyway considering the foot of height Sasha had on him, and took a step back. 

“I’ll only work for a short while- this needs to get done, Sasha, it’s important work.”

“More important than your health? It’s late, we’ll be back here in eight-ish hours, you can do it then.” She took a confident stride forward and once again reached for the files, but lost her footing as Jon’s chair slid into the way and caught Jon’s wrist for balance, Jon instinctively grasping onto hers to catch her.

Sasha steadied herself with a squeak, and Jon’s eyes immediately caught the splayed yellow handprint left behind on his skin, and stepped back directly into the desk behind him.

It was his turn to stumble, but he caught himself in time to see Sasha’s astonished face as she stared down at the silvery-grey handprint on her own wrist. Her skin was so dark the mark shone like iridescent beauty highlighter, almost glittering as she tilted her arm back and forth, instead of the oil slick it looked on Georgie. 

His own mark looked like Sasha had dipped her hand in paint before grasping his wrist, the sunshiney-yellow looking perfectly in place next to the bright turquoise Georgie had left. His two marks. His two, different marks, proof that two, seperate people- liked him. Cared about him. Enough to leave physical proof.

Sasha looked to have gotten over her shock somewhat, attempting to catch his eye as a delighted grin grew on her face. She reached out, eager to press their marks together, and Jon hesitated only a moment before grasping onto her wrist, pressing his fingertips carefully to where the silver shone, peeking out under some of her other, older marks. 

The feeling was overwhelming, so completely different to Georgie’s calm energy that Jon felt almost unbalanced. Sasha’s mind was  _ fast _ , jumping from one thought to the next, like a raging river splitting off into a million different racing streams. He could feel her cleverness, her wild enthusiasm, her quick wit and electric energy, and as he focused he could feel how she thought of him- that she was proud of him, with how he was making such a genuine effort to connect with his assistants now. There was a brief flash of a memory- a murmured compliment, from Jon to Sasha, that had stuck in her memory so strongly that she thought about it every time she thought about Jon. It was all emotions and thoughts jumbled up into a firework of affection, and he was quickly overwhelmed. He hadn’t anticipated- how much she cared about him. How much she loved their conversations about books, to get to be passionate about something with someone with a mind like hers. 

He broke the contact first, carefully letting go almost one finger at a time, and focusing enough on reality to take a deep breath. Sasha was  _ beaming _ at him, her smile taking up her whole face, so bright Jon couldn’t help but smile tentatively back. This made her look, if possible, even happier.

“I  _ knew _ I was your favorite assistant. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Martin.” Her smile was stretched ear to ear as she tilted her wrist in the light, admiring the almost glittering soft grey. 

“Why on earth would Martin care?” Jon asked, almost absent-mindedly. His focus was still on the mark Sasha had left behind. After so many years of staring at a blank wrist, the sight of two bright spots of color was startling- both the colors and what they signified. 

“Nevermind, nevermind. Here- can I-” She reached forward again, and this time Jon was more confident in meeting her touch, almost eager to once again be lost in thought and color. The connection was so similar to Georgie’s and so wildly different at the same time. In both there was that sense of security, that unshakeable knowledge that this was the feeling of love and being loved, that this was a relationship worth keeping and working for- but Georgie’s was stable soft comfort, the knowledge that there was always someone on your side who cared about you and wanted to keep you safe. Sasha was a kindred spark, a burst of electricity that made Jon want to get up and start  _ doing  _ something- she was the safety of the knowledge that there was someone who would fight by your side.

This time Sasha broke the contact, rubbing her eyes, and sank into a nearby chair. She still had a soft smile on her face, tilting her arms this way and that to examine the colors decorating them. Jon imagined, for a moment, what it would be like to be so loved you were covered in evidence of it. To not have to fight and work to feel and express emotions, to have it flow so naturally out of you that you seemed to hold light in your heart. Like Georgie. Or Martin.

But then again he was being ridiculous- not long ago, he had no marks. Now he had not one but two people that changed his life, that were changing his life every moment they were in it. It was a dizzy, intoxicating feeling, to know so absolutely that someone cared about you. Even more startling was how desperate Jon was to keep that feeling, to make sure Georgie and Sasha’s marks stayed bright on his skin for as long as possible. 

He would work on it. He had people to help him, now. He was no longer alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neurodivergent!sasha and neurodivergent!jon connecting over their shared ability to hyperfocus on nerd shit is what i live for & i hope you guys also appreciate it. if u read my other fics, u know i have adhd and relate heavily to jon- i'm leaving it pretty open to interpretation in this fic, but just wanted to put that out there.
> 
> my tumblr is @diffenbachiae come be my friend <3


	4. love and martin blackwood's conclusion on it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take this take it get it out of my drafts i dont want it anymore ive been trying to write a chapter for this fic for weeks and this is what resulted and i like it so i'm posting it as a filler chapter and you'll get the real full chapter when i get the motivation for it
> 
> in the meantime i hope you like this, i wanted to write from martin's perspective and show his thoughts as he gets to know jon as jon is simultaneously growing and changing as a person

Martin thought about love quite often.

He thought about love in the way that people who never receive enough of it tend to- in an an almost analytical fashion, searching for the reasons behind it, the mechanics, attempting to learn enough to learn the shape of love. To learn how it worked, and functioned, and felt. 

As people who write poetry often are, he was someone who noticed the world, because he loved it, and quite simply his conclusion about love was that love was paying attention. He paid attention to and wrote about the way the leaves fell like rain around him in the fall, the way hot steam curled up from his tea and rested in his heart, about whatever he wanted, secure in the knowledge there was no one he trusted enough to allow to read it anyway. Martin noticed as much as he could- it was easy to pay attention to the world when you weren’t bothering with any actual interacting with it- and he went about his business.

The first person he noticed at his new job was Jonathan Sims. Jon was private, curt, and quite rude. Some of this appeared to be unintentional, but the majority of it certainly came across as intentional and personal, and so Martin quickly gained the impression that Jon was someone to be avoided. He tried his best to stay out of the other man’s way, but seemed to somehow constantly earn his scorn in some way or another, and so adjusted his behavior by retreating further into the background. Martin was very used to becoming invisible. He was someone people seemed to prefer to be blissfully ignorant of.

Tim and Sasha were easy people to notice. Tim was loud and in-your-face and bold, constantly in motion and laughing, with a slightly too-quick temper and crude sense of humor. Sasha was smart and quick, with a voice that was fast to praise and fast to judge, determined and ambitious and driven. Their first impressions were strong because they themselves were strong people, in who they were and what they wanted to do. It was easy to read someone who read themselves aloud just by being.

As he got to know them better, Martin read in between the lines. Tim was careful with his words, teasing often and with an air of absolute confidence but constantly looking at Sasha’s face to make sure it was being well-received. Sasha would gently remind Tim with a touch on the shoulder or arm, to soften his temper, to lower his voice, to remember to read the room. Tim brought Sasha water or meals when she was consumed by her research, too preoccupied with devouring knowledge to remember mundane things like the need to eat. They both paid quiet and constant attention to the other, their love as obvious and evident as the others’ marks on their skin.

Over time, they began to notice him, and this is where Martin’s quiet routine began to be thrown off. He had lived in the background (or so he thought) during the first few months at his job, occasionally bringing Tim or Sasha tea when they looked worn or exhausted, doing his perennial job of invisible cheerleader, as he was accustomed to. Martin existed to be quiet and to be helpful. His skin was pale and dull and as blank as the expression he wore most of the time- it was rare anyone touched him, let alone with love in their heart, but he certainly still cared for the people around him. He liked Tim and Sasha as much as he was achingly jealous of them, of their simple presence for one another, and would quite like to be friends with either of them if they noticed he existed.

And lately, it seemed like they might. Tim had started including Martin more and more in his friendly teasing, even once affectionately bumping his shoulder. This had startled Martin so badly he almost fell to one side, managing to catch himself on a nearby table and luckily having enough thought to send a surprised smile Tim’s way. This served to encourage the other man- a day or so after, Martin was invited along with Tim and Sasha to a bar for drinks after work. The evening went well enough that the invitation was extended again the week after, and again, and as the months went by (and the Archives in turn revealed themselves to be much more dangerous than expected) the three reached an easy and comfortable sense of camaraderie. 

These were Martin’s first real, proper friendships, and he knew now that he had them he would not easily give them up. Jon’s occasional tempers were a lot more bearable with Tim making mocking faces just behind the man’s head, or even on one recent occasion Sasha standing up for him and telling Jon off as one would a rude child. This made more sense as Martin noticed a sunshine yellow handprint splayed across Jon’s wrist- she had job security, then. Hard to fire someone you shared a mark with. 

Tim noticed the handprint too, and their usual after-work drinks that night had taken on somewhat of a different atmosphere. He was incredulous that Sasha had a mark from Jon, and furthermore felt it was somewhat of a betrayal after the way Jon had treated Martin for the majority of the months they had all worked together. Martin’s feelings on this ranged between a sort of vindictive gratefulness and quiet chagrin. Jon had gotten better, after all, seemed to even have been trying to be nice to them, in his odd sort of way. 

He had noticed Jon as well, after all. While Jon had always been an awkward sort of man, stumbling over words and social customs on occasion and becoming quickly irritated over things that wouldn’t bother most people, he now seemed to be doing his best to tell his assistants exactly what was bothering him and why. He had been friendlier, leaving the door to his office cracked or even fully open on occasion, joining them for lunch a few times even if he chose the book in front of him over joining in conversation. As time passed, he began to join conversation more and more, and Martin was able to notice enough to see Jon as more than a one-dimensional angry boss caricature. Jon was passionate about the things he was interested in and eager to share them, he was kind in his own clumsy sort of way, and he spoke very honestly and very openly and without much of a filter when he was on about something he was confident speaking about. 

Jon was… also... easy on the eyes. Over the time they’d worked together his hair had grown to hang over the edges of his ears, hanging in front of his eyes like a dark curtain. Martin had noticed this in particular. He had noticed Jon’s stubble, his dark almond eyes, his sharp features and angular thin hands, the way he wrapped his fingers around a mug of tea and bent his head forward to inhale the steam and muttered a low “thank you, Martin” in a way that absolutely did not make Martin’s heart contract- he had noticed Jon’s lips, chapped and bitten raw. He had quite certainly paid attention to Jonathan Sims. 

And while Jon still lost his temper on occasion, yes, he had ended this altercation with an apology in private. He had told Martin why he had been upset, that he understood that he couldn’t speak to Martin that way, and how he was going to adjust the way he responded to things. That he was genuinely sorry that he upset Martin, and would do his best not to do it again. 

Martin was doing his best to not be a doormat, but it felt like a real apology, and he now had Sasha and Tim to count on to tell him off when he was actually being a doormat. He had already forgiven Jon, and told Jon so, because he could see that Jon was trying. He noticed Jon’s efforts, the work he was putting in, and when he told Jon this the other man smiled at him for the first time.

It was a small smile, but certainly there, and Martin knew instantly that he wanted to see it over and over. The gruff man he first knew Jonathan Sims as and the man in front of him that he had started to see as Jon had seemed to be two very different people, and he was beginning to notice both of them as one- that slow process of knowing a person. 

And so Martin thought about paying attention a lot, recently. He paid a lot of attention to Jonathan Sims. He left warm cups of tea at his desk when Jon looked tired after a long day, and accepted the murmured thank yous and slight smiles Jon would send his way. He noticed when Jon’s scoldings turned into helpful reminders and constructive suggestions, and when his snapped irritation turned into quiet communication. Martin began to see the way Jon showed affection, through dry humor and through sharing knowledge, and in turn he began to let Jon see him, talked a bit in passing about his poetry and his favourite authors and the music he liked, and when Jon heard a song Martin had mentioned that he loved playing on the radio, he turned up the volume as he passed by. Martin connected the dots as the music swelled right as Jon walked by and could feel the warmth in his chest rising into his cheeks as they heated into a blush.

Love was, after all, paying attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something i hate in fanfic is when jon is mean to martin and martin is fine with it and thats shown as healthy. this fic is meant to convey that jon is a mentally ill and traumatized person, and martin is a mentally ill and traumatized person, and the way they love and feel love is always going to operate through that lens. in this fic martin has C-PTSD and jon is neurodivergent. that means this chapter focuses on how martin needs to understand love is equal and has boundaries, and jon needs to understand how to communicate what he's thinking and feeling and what he needs in a healthy way.


End file.
